


“I can’t tell who you were trying to hurt: me or you”

by WhumpTown



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Brightwell, Gil is Malcolm's dad, Suicidal Tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: Another Tumblr prompt filler from my Tumblr accountMalcolm does something stupid and gets himself hurt
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 117





	“I can’t tell who you were trying to hurt: me or you”

She knows in an instant that the man across from her isn’t her Malcolm Bright. The little crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes that dance when he sees her are dead. Flat. Even as his face remains pinched in confusion, in pain. There’s no crooked smile, the right side of his face always over-joyed at the sight of her. Nearly no recognition at all.

“ _It’s not the first time he’s done something like this_ ,” Gil had told her. His goatee seemed thinner, greyer in the light of the hospital. His eyes tired, shoulders sagged in a defeat she’d never seen him wear. “ _He’s a bit self-sacrificing. Got a flair for the dramatics_.” 

She’d watched, standing in the poorly lit hallway of the ICU, as a single tear fell from Gil’s eye. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. Just sniffled, running a finger under his nose. He smiled at her, despite it all. The blood drying on her sleeves, the blood-caked underneath her nails. Her voice raw from the sobs that had wracked her small frame. His name still on the edge of her lips.

She knows Malcolm. 

The rough pattern of his fingertips.

The way he breathes when he’s genuinely, deeply asleep.

The sound his bare feet meet when he walks across the room late at night and he’s trying his best not to wake her.

That he loves to sit and watch the sun come up. Especially on the roof with blankets wrapped snug around his bare shoulders and his breath condensating in front of him.

He can’t stand the feeling of suede.

He re-reads books, over and over, but can’t watch the same movie twice.

That he cracks his knuckles and his wrist sounds like rice krispies from the way he shakes it out too frequently.

She knows him and yet…

“L-Last time…” Malcolm’s voice trembles like the fingers he’s wrapped snuggly around hers. His eyes dance distractedly around the room, anywhere but her own. “Mother… She was furious. Positive that I’d done it for attention, attention from _him_. I hadn’t. I hadn’t thought about him when…”

She squeezes his hand and she’s not sure if she’s glad or not that at least he’s admitting his ‘brave’ act was a borderline suicide attempt. But she’s engaged, hanging on to his every word like maybe if next time she pays more attention this won’t ever happen again. Except, she can see, in his eyes, that desperation leads to dangerous acts of bravery. 

“She said she wasn’t sure who I was trying to hurt.” He glances at her, failing to maintain eye contact. “Myself or… or her.”

She wants to shake him by the shoulders, to shout ‘ _I don’t know either! Who were you trying to hurt, Malcolm? Because I can’t tell who you were trying to hurt: me or you!_ ’ She just sighs, pulling herself into the bed and closer to him.

“I don’t know,” he whispers into her hair. She’s nestled close now and he realizes just how stupid he has been. He can feel her heart beating against his arm. It’s speeding up a little more each time she brushes her thumb over the skin of his chest. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Dani. I just want to…”

She frowns because she knows exactly why he threw himself in the way of the bullet. A bullet that wouldn’t have killed her to be hit with. He’s got this twisted sense of justice. That somehow his misery equates the justice of his father’s victims. “I know,” she whispers, closing her eyes and trying to soak in the sound of his heartbeat. To engrave it in her memory.

Martin Whitley will rot in prison. But every day, she still has to live like he’s still out there. Because she knows, without a doubt in her mind, that his final victim with be the worst one yet. 

“Dani?”

She holds him a little tighter, trying to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

The tear rolls her cheek,” I know, Malcolm.” She’ll hold him a little tighter, a little longer. All she can do is pray that somehow she can somehow protect Malcolm. But she knows that The Surgeon’s final victim is in her arms.


End file.
